The Race
by LediShae
Summary: Inspired by the app game on iphone/android Transformers Legends. A young racer, his artist brother and their best friend face Cybertron as they seek fortune and fame. Yet dark days promise to take away everything. It all started with The Race.
1. The Race

**A/N:** I own nothing, all rights belong to Hasbro/Takara and all game designers and distributors for Transformers Legends

* * *

The Race

_Speed, he needed to go faster. It was the thrill, the rush. There was danger, the risk of destruction, being on the brink of death and laughing in its face. He wanted more acceleration, the greater roar from his engine and the heat of his own body burning him up. The next corner came into view, the very roadway sloping upwards to the vertical embankment. He pushed his accelerator, his engine screamed for victory and the pull of inertia and the drag of his momentum threatened to rip him apart. His body wanted to explode as his internal pressure screamed at the redline. _

_The curve pulled him closer to the topmost edge, then launched down the receding slope on the other side. Other cars blurred past him seeming to go backwards as he hit the flat asphalt and floored it. He sped up beyond any speed he had ever known, to a velocity that defied his speedometer. He screamed as the victory line rushed at him, growing with the speed of falling to the hard ground from a skyscraper. He was close! Almost there – With an agonized shriek his wheels slipped out from under him and he slammed into darkness and straight into a concrete wall._

"_Skid-Out," The track manager, Pothole called out orns later when the battered race bot had finally been released from the track medical ward. "Skidder, listen, that was your last chance. You've crashed ten times, each one worst than the last. I've never lost a racer to the sport, and I refuse to start with you." Pothole held out his hand, "I'm sorry Skidder, but you are barred from ever racing on my track or competing in any competition with my name on it."_

_Skid-Out numbly shook the manager's hand, his plating still dinged from his massive injuries of his last accident. "Poty?" The young mech asked distantly, his optics unfocused from being too badly injured for too long and the sudden news he did not know how to handle, "Know anyplace willing to take in a young washout?" He smiled weakly, optics attempting to brighten but failing miserably._

"_Sorry, kiddo, I only know racing and racers. You were the best, the fastest with the best instincts and the hottest alt-mode. But, you're so slagging _stupid_."_

_Skid-Out flinched and nodded, hanging his helm. This wasn't the first time he had been told, nor was it the second nor seventh. He had been told the same thing his entire life._

"You're good kid." "You've got talent kid." "You're through kid, you're just too damn dumb."

_Skid-Out wondered if he had a chance in going home._

* * *

_Spin-Out critiqued the exhibition hall with the air of a noble. He stood tall in his deceptively light plating. His elegant hands cradled an exquisite crystal cube filled with an acrid yellow oil blend. It was caustic and dangerous and so, so expensive. Every last noble was clamoring for the rare brew. Despite not touching a drop of the brew – he couldn't afford to have the metal corroding liquid damage his plating – he made sure he promoted it shamelessly. _

_Spin-Out glanced surreptitiously across the crowd as he mimed taking a sip, he hid a smirk at the many small corrosion marks blemishing the true nobles' faces. They looked ridiculous, as if they had been working in the mines and forgot to wash their faces from the disgraceful labor. It was amusing to the pale aqua mech with the artful fins arching back from his optics. _

"_A true master," a noble slurred regally in his inebriated state, standing swaying beside Spin-Out, gesturing widely with his empty hand at the many crystal paintings, glass-melt mosaics, sculptures and rare metal ore grease sketches. The materials made the artworks into valuable possessions. The sheer skill in the artwork made them priceless. "Wh-what is your secret? How do you make such beautiful things?" _

_Spin-Out arched a brow ridge disdainfully, optics slitted against the acrid stench of the mech's exvents tainted with caustic fumes. Then he forced a smile, his features lightening the room and drawing all optics to him. For that moment he stood upon a pedestal and all cast their full attention upon him. "I have no secret. My function _is_ my art."_

_The hall erupted with applause, all admiring the mech who could rightfully claim to be fulfilling his core function. All mechanoids strove to discover and fulfill their functions. It was their innermost coding placed at the instant they were sparked by the very hand of Primus. For most, it was a long, grueling journey that often went unrealized. For others their function was fulfilled only late in life. Yet, here before them stood a prodigy in his skill, one who had found his function in youth and was able to fulfill it. _

_Cycles later, as the late-shift stars wheeled away to be replaced with the distant neutron star that pulsed the increment of the orn Spin-Out finally left the hall with a swagger. The streets were empty at this early joor and he had the whole of Cybertron to himself – for a moment._

"_Congratulations." _

_Spin-Out turned to his companion, signature smirk lifting one edge of his lip plating. "Why thank you, Pathline." _

"_It's nothing, but," the richly decal-bedecked mech paused to look pointedly at a video advertizing board nearby. "You might want to watch the news feed."_

_Spin-Out followed Pathline's optics to the board, optics spiraling in fear as an all too familiar hideous green racer appeared on the screen in a still shot before switching to live feed of that self-same idiot skidding along a grease trap on the raceway in the final stretch. The video seemed to slow down with sickening inevitability. _

_Cycling his intakes, Spin-Out watched as the green racer slammed into the wall, erupting into a plume of flame. "Skidder." _

* * *

_Skid-Out grimaced as he was retrofitted with a crash cage on his front fender. The rigid metal heavily crusted with plasma blades and energy lances weighed his engine down and increased his drag. His processors spun, calculating his drag coefficient and recalculating as more plating was added to his frame. _

"_Now you're ready, kid." The cruel voice of his handler grated next to Skid-Out. "With these _upgrades_ you'll be the meanest racer in all of Fort Yuss. Magistrate Gauntlet will be pleased. Do well against the other competitors and your reward will be _substantial._" The cycle-former purred beside him. Long talons traced along Skid-Out's plating. _

"_Who are the other competitors, Cy-Kill?" Skid-Out asked with feigned bravado he in no way felt, grateful that he was in his alt-mode with his face hidden from view._

"_Restless recruits and neglected soldiers bored stupid here at the base." Cy-Kill grinned violently. He raked his talons lightly across Skid-Out's plating, making the racer shudder from the vibrations._

"_I'll keep that in mind." Skid-Out replied and transformed, shifting into his root mode, 'accidentally' catching Cy-Kill's disturbingly long talons in some of his reinforced armor plating, making the smaller mech screech. "Touch my plating again, and I'll rip yours off."_

_Cy-Kill shook his talons, glaring up fearlessly at the armored mech towering over him._

"_What the slagging _Pits_ are you doing?" the mechs turned, Cy-Kill sneering up at the newcomer while Skid-Out only grinned._

"_I'm entering a race!" _

"_Not like _that._" Out of the shadows Spin-Out stepped into the light, his optics slitted in silent fury at his brother's mangled frame. He turned to the sneering mini-cycle standing beside them, "How long until he competes?"_

"_One orn." Cy-Kill grinned, his denta showing widely._

"_My assistant is outside, show him in." Spin-Out demanded, kicking the little mech out before turning on Skid-Out. "You worthless waste of scrap! I scoured all of Crystal City looking for your ruined chassis. I traveled every turn off along that worthless Titanium Turnpike. _Then,_ I found your manager. I had to find out from a complete stranger that you have lied to me since you moved out! Not one victory, and none of the other racers ever cheated nor was there one poor track maintenance issue; none of this slag you've been sending has been real! You're too stupid to win!"_

_Skid-Out let Spin-Out rant, a small smile crossing his features and spreading as the rant continued to linger on. _

"_... and on top of _that_ – What are you smiling about?" Spin-Out demanded harshly._

"_I missed you too bro." Skid-Out chuckled, then his smile faded. "I couldn't tell you. You're famous, you're powerful, wealthy and I – failed at the only thing I ever wanted to do." _

"_Skidder! We've missed you!" Pathline waltzed in, arms open wide as he greeted the green monstrosity that once looked like a humbler version of Spin-Out. "Although you were prettier the last time I saw you."_

"_Yeah," Skid-Out smiled weakly, "I've been running in underground races, earning enough credits to get home. This was my last stop. First place is ten million creds. I could have gone home and had enough for rent."_

_Spin-Out grabbed his brother's shoulder, twisting the recently welded external strut with cool aloofness, making Skid-Out shriek in pain. "This was rigged for you to die, or be made into a training exercise. You can die however you want to, but it will not reflect poorly on _me_."_

"_I'll get the tools." Pathline chuckled, unfazed by the calm violence Spin-Out was capable of, he was glad it_ was_ Spin-Out being violent. Skid-Out's violence was far, far worse. "You never did learn to listen to your brother."_

_Skid-Out snorted, "Like I ever would," He smiled at his brother, then looked down at the massive grill plate on his chest as the smile ran away. "Why'd you come after me?"_

_Spin-Out sighed, "Idiot, do you really expect me to let you kill yourself and leave me with Pathline for the rest of my life?" He slung his arm over his brother's spiked shoulder with a small smile – a real smile, not the pale smirks he bestowed upon the elites. "If you scratch my paint, I will change my mind."_

_Skid-Out laughed, "I've wanted to come home for so long. When I go out there, I forget. I want to go faster, I can't get enough speed. Then -"_

"_You crash and burn and any winnings go to the medics to piece your sorry skidplates back whole again." Spin-Out finished. "I need someone to sell my works. You can't race worth a damn, but you could sell Unicron his own hollow spark casing for a profit."_

_Skid-Out grinned, "Sure, if I survive this."_

"_I'm back," Pathline sing-songed as he sauntered into the maintenance bay that served as Skidder's upgrade facility. "Miss me?"_

"_No," the brothers replied in simultaneous deadpan._

"_Come on, my optics are burning from looking at you." Spin-Out shoved Skid-Out away and set to work._

* * *

_Speed, he needed to go faster. It was the thrill, the rush. There was danger, the risk of destruction, being on the brink of death and laughing in its face. He wanted more acceleration, the greater roar from his engine and the heat of his own body burning him up. The next corner came into view, the very roadway sloping upwards to the vertical embankment. He pushed his accelerator, his engine screamed for victory and the pull of inertia and the drag of his momentum threatened to pull him apart. His body wanted to explode as pressure built from the combined forces. _

_The curve pulled him closer to the topmost edge, then launched down the receding slope on the other side. Other cars blurred past him seeming to go backwards. Before him a vibrant sign lit and weapons systems on-lined. Skid-Out forced himself into a spin, twisting as he pulled a one-eighty and floored his accelerator. He charged straight for the mechs he had passed, shredding them as he barreled into them. He spun, the emergency brake shrieking as he another tight one-eighty and raced away from the next pack of opponents barreling towards him. _

_From the stands he could hear his brother's voice screaming for him to move faster. Internally, Skid-Out grinned. He had always wanted to hear his brother call out to him, now he was. Somewhere up in the stands he knew Pathline was screaming as well. Despite the flitting emotions in the back of his processor Skid-Out was completely focused on the track._

_Ahead, he spotted a familiar foe and spun once more charging his opponents, and missing. The mechs barreling around him were focused on evading him, and not on the oil slick ahead. As the many forms shrieked with surprise as they slid out of control Skid-Out turned around more carefully and eased his way past the slick. _

_Smug pride filled for all of a spark pulse – and died. As he sped up he found the track opening onto a demolition course. Obstacles and military weaponry littered the field. One twisting path snaked its way through the death trap then vanished over the opposite hill. Skid-Out gulped and floored it holding to speed to see him through._

"_What is he doing?" Pathline asked, horror lacing his voice and dread freezing him in place._

"_Dancing." Spin-Out replied with a chilling grin as he watched with veiled intensity. Below them Skidder launched himself over the first ramp in the obstacle course, barely missing a military bot lying in wait for him to land. The black and venom orange mech unfolded in a spark pulse, a massive plasma war hammer slamming into the ground just behind Skidder's rear fender. _

_Skid-Out muted his vocals as the scream of terror nearly ripped from him with the war hammer's impact knocking his sensors for a loop. He skidded, wheels churning ineffectively in the strange, off-world imported dirt until his transformation protocols could compensate six astroseconds later. It was the longest six astroseconds of his life. Wheels spinning, front wheels skidding back and forth as he fought for purchase all the while the massive war hammer rose from the crater it had formed and loomed over him, coming down for the death strike just as he screamed out of the trench he had dug and zoomed towards the oncoming war mech locked just as he was in alt mode._

_The tank-mech roared towards Skid-Out, his treads digging into the dirt and pulling him forward. Much lighter and skimming along the gritty surface Skidder fish tailed as he spun once more as the tank loosed a missile. The shell screamed past Skidder's fender blistering the plating in its wake and slammed into the war hammer wielding soldier. _

_Skidder cackled as the standing mech exploded, the massive war hammer flying from his hand and smashed into the tank, killing it instantly. _'Two down,'_ Skidder accelerated from the trap, leaving the encroaching racers behind in his dust. He slid across the sand and flew over the next hill. A row of stakes met him at the crest and Skidder danced between the sharpened twisted metal. _

_He raced down the hill, picking up speed and found himself heading straight to an intersection with racers heading towards him from different directions. He saw their speeds and floored his accelerator. In moments he raced between the oncoming racers, his rear fender clearing their path just as they smashed into each other and splintered into a thousand pieces._

* * *

_Spin-Out watched, grateful his brother was almost across the race track. Was this how his brother had been living this whole time? Spin-Out frowned, spotting more obstacles that would all be lethal waiting for the hideously green low-slung racing form of his brother._

"_Spin-Out, I don't think he's coming back from this one." Pathline worried, voicing Spin-Out's own worries._

"_He will," Spin-Out demanded, "I won't let him ruin my name." The words were empty, the only thing Spin-Out had to cling to since Skidder had left vorns ago was his own name. Now he could have his brother back at his side – _if_ he survived. "I never gave him permission to die."_

_Pathline looked incredulously slowly towards his friend, optics filled with disbelief as he reset his optics. "You never gave him _permission_?" _

"_No," Spin-Out stared at the track, fixated on his brother's fight for his life across the field. "He made me a promise."_

* * *

_Skid-Out nearly screamed with relief as his tires finally left the sand behind him. His frame screamed down the exit ramp and around the curved embankment to the next straightaway. His wheels shrieked, but the rush was gone. The thrill of acceleration had died with the splash of another mech's life fluids hitting his windshield. _

_Skidder had always only worried about the rush and the finish line in the past, now suddenly he was faced with worrying about everything around him. His tanks felt heavy but he could not slow down, a prisoner on the race track he could only go faster and try to survive._

_The straightaway curved away out of sight, Skidder sped up, taking the curve and let his inertia propel him faster around the bend. The road corkscrewed upwards, taking him high above the track to an open deathtrap. The road was flat and wide, but no embankments or walls kept anyone from going off the edge and plummeting down to the dust mote sized stadium below._

_Once on the road Skidder accelerated, hoping to get across the open expanse before the others could catch up – then he saw the rest of the pack heading straight for him. _This was rigged for you to die … _Spin-Out's words last orn caught up to him. Then he got angry._

* * *

_Pathline watched the mockery of a race on a massive screen and caught his breath. _There. _Skid-Out might be locked in his alt mode, but Pathline could read him like a data pad. The acid green racer suddenly lowered on his shocks, the many blades and lances encrusted on his front fender activated with blazes of blue, yellow and green light._

_Pathline gulped in his seat, Skidder was no longer having fun. This was what he had been afraid of. For a second Pathline suddenly found himself wishing it was Spin-Out on the track, the results would be less messy._

* * *

_Skid-Out lowered himself on his shocks, hugging the ground. With a roar of his engine he threw himself at the oncoming horde and extended the many laser lances and plasma blades Cy-Kill had put on his frame. Despite being in alt mode Skidder felt a terrible grin spread across his features as he slammed his blades into his first opponent. Metal sheared, mechs screamed and Skidder laughed as the racers around him slammed into each other in reaction to the pain. On the edges of the pack racers were forced off the road, their alt-mode locked frames plunging to the distant earth. _

_Skid-Out spun from the attack, launching himself at the next wave of fighters and raced through the scattering vehicles. He let this new thrill run through his lines, relishing the scream of metal as it tore against his blades. A mech screamed, and other's raced to stop Skidder. Before him the pack opened and Skidder red lined his engine slashing through those around him to get to the exit and home._

_The asphalt blurred beneath Skidder's wheels, his sensors locked on the distant finish line and the many obstacles between him and the end. He could feel other mechs closing behind him, but he could care less. The race had lost its luster, speed and lost its allure. Skidder just wanted to go home. _

_His thoughts on freedom from the track, Skidder passed the finish line and jumped as the crowd erupted into screams and yells. Only when he looked around did he finally see his brother and Pathline racing towards him, the key to release his transformation lock in hand. Once freed Skidder could only crow – he was going home …_

* * *

_Y_et another new story, one I've been sitting on for months due to some rather nasty turns real life has been giving me. So now, all better and back to the stories!_  
_


	2. The Deal

The Deal

"_You thought this was going to be easy?" Pathline asked Skidder as they waited in the darkness, each still and mute save for the faint whisper._

"_No, I thought this was gonna be interesting." The venom green former racer replied blandly, deep blue optics watching the world with an air of mischief despite the somberness of his voice._

"_Shut up, both of you!" Spin-Out hissed, and let them fall back into audio numbing silence. They waited, dimmed optics scanning the darkness until four shadowed figures new comers were tall, armor plating raised from their frames like scales. Small segments of facial plating clicked and shifted as they moved acting like tiny fingers tapping and clicking and shifting in their unease._

"_Com'out 'ere," The tallest snarled into the dark warehouse they had agreed to meet. Her voice echoed and snarled back from the depths of the massive structure geared to hold guardians and merchandise alike._

_Spin-Out waited, letting the echoes die, then stood and flared his optics brilliantly then let them fade back into darkness. As their guests recovered their optics from the brilliant light Pathline and Skid-Out stood and circled silently to flank the clustered mechs. Only when they were in position did Skidder activate the device in his hands and flare his optics, letting them bleed white until his were indistinguishable from his brother's._

"_It's big, this place, isn't it?" Skidder asked with a cocky smirk and swagger as he stepped from the darkness, behind him scores of optics lit surrounding their guests creating a spotlight within the darkness that concealed all others besides Skidder and his guests._

"_The agreement was three each." The tall femme snarled down at Skidder, her optics mistrusting._

"_You lie, I lie, lets just call it added security." Skidder grinned fully with his hands splayed harmlessly._

_The femme stared around the circle, looking for other familiar faces and found only nondescript silhouettes backlight by the glowing optics. "I brought my three, what's yer excuse now?"_

"_My dear Linecutter, the agreement was on a _total_ of three, counting yourself. Instead you brought three plus yourself and that's not counting the several ten-count standing outside." Skidder's grin widened and turned cruel as Linecutter flinched._

"_Wha'd ya want?" She demanded, stepping back slightly from the much smaller Skidder standing in front of her crew._

"_Nothing much," Skiddder grinned once more optics brightening as he signaled her to follow. "Leave the rest, just you."_

_Linecutter glanced to her mechs, nodded once and dimmed her optic slightly, then followed Skidder deeper into the warehouse._

"_I hear your crew is in trouble." Skidder began in complete seriousness, "Those oh-so-benevolent Autobot defense forces are hunting you down for being criminals, and the nobler-than-though Elites have cast you from Crystal City, the Towers, even Iacon. You need an out, before they catch you."_

"_So ya've got audios all 'round, what's that gonna get me?" She snarled, chin plating flicking and clacking in mute distress._

"_It is not what my connections _will_ get you, but what I already have." Skidder's grin returned with a benevolent air as he stepped up to a stack of crates taller then either of them. "Your crew specializes in transport. I have these crates destined for Tarn, and no one to take them for me. You would be doing me a favor by taking them, and I repay you by generating appropriate credentials to pass inspection. Do we have a deal?"_

_Linecutter frowned, "I need to speak with my crew –"_

"_Ah, ah, ah, Linecutter, you wound me." Skidder interrupted, "This is a one time offer. Either you take it now, or my next round of guests will – in fifty astroseconds."_

"_Fine, fine, we'll take it." Linecutter snarled and looked up sharply as flashing lights strobed distantly in the darkness. "When can we go?"_

"_Right now, call your mechs over." Skidder waved to the ring of light in the distance and instantly darkness consumed all but Linecutter's mechs. "I'll leave you to packing, while I get the data packet." _

_Linecutter watched as her contact slipped into the darkness and shook with the need to bolt. They had killed an Autobot guardsman, now they were wanted. With bounties on their helms they had to get out fast._

"_I would hurry, if I were you." Skidder stepped back into sight, data chit in hand. Linecutter had folded down into her massive transport alt mode as her crew packed up the shipment in her hold. Skidder reached in through Linecutter's open front window and slipped the chit into her 'driver'. "Send these credentials to the guards at the gate, they will give you safe travel all the way to Tarn."_

_With his deposit, Skidder turned and left watching through dimmed optics as the crew stowed the last of the shipment and turndeled out into the eternal darkness. _

"_That's it?" Pathline asked with a pensive frown, "What about the credits _we_ need now?"_

_Skidder smiled, patted Pathline's helm and walked from the warehouse jauntily, passing speeding enforcement units rushing towards the warehouse and reports of theft. "Simple," he lifted his wrist thumbing off the disruptor beacon he wore and nodding to his brother and friend to do likewise. "These," he lifted his wrist again, "keep us from being recorded properly. Enforcement officers have no record we were ever near the warehouse. When the news comes on that a massive shipment of weapons and high priced goods were stolen the icon of respectable privilege, Spin-Out, will call in a rumor he heard at his art show."_

"_What art show?" Spin-Out demanded._

"_The one you have been hosting all night." Skidder grinned and passed a data chit to his brother, "I'd hurry if I were you."_

"_What?" Pathline looked between the brothers then cursed as he folded down and raced towards the show room on Spin-Out's rear fender. _

_Once the others faded from sight Skidder grinned and headed back towards the warehouse with his disruptor back on. He folded down in alt mode, racing along the short stretch of back road that led to the warehouse's rear entry. He paused when the warehouse was just in sight. He stood from his wheels, grabbed a short, heavy, twisted piece of pipe that had folded over on itself and deactivated his vocal processors._

_Shutting off his optics he took in a deep vent of air to cool his systems then huffed out all the heated air in a rush. _Crunch._ Skidder wheezed in pain, the folded pipe still pressed agonizingly into his plating where he had punched himself with it. He vented again, and slammed the pipe into his own jaw, his optic, switching hands he slammed it into his shoulder and threw himself into a jutting ruin of old piping taking scrapes and punctures as he fought against the pipes until he could barely stand._

_Then he slipped into the back of the warehouse smirking as his commotion had drawn in the enforcers. As they moved so did he. He walked backwards to where the crates had been stolen from, then used his own prints to retrace his steps to the back door and collapsed amongst the piping._

"_Halt!" A voice rang out, and Skidder could only activate his vocal processors with a groan to keep from laughing. "Primus."_

_One optic creaked open and Skidder could only take in the sight of a young enforcement officer looking vaguely ill at the spectacle Skidder made. "Did-you catch-them?" Skidder gasped up at the officer._

"_Catch – no, we just heard about the theft. What was stolen?" He crouched down next to the slightly mangled green mech on the ground._

"_Donno, have a pile here, stack 66.91GS. Did they take it?" Skidder asked, weakly grabbing onto the enforcer as the other began working to seal the many wounds._

"_No, that one is safe. I'm Enforcer Rounddown."_

"_I'm Skid-Out. Are you sure, my crates are still there?" Skidder looked up at Rounddown desperately._

"_Positive, what is in them anyways that would bring you down here so late?" Concerned crimson optics looked Skid-Out over with concern._

"_I'm the agent for my brother, Spin-Out."_

"_The artist?!" Rounddown looked to Skidder's optics in shock, and gaped as Skidder could only nod once with a groan._

"_He's sending several of his best pieces to the Towers. I'm supposed to take them in them first cycle next orn."_

"_That's not going to happen now, I'm afraid." Rounddown spoke gently, "First cycle started six breems ago."_

_Skidder blinked, "Six breems?" He checked his chronometer and blinked, "I think I passed out." He looked up in confusion and felt his helm ache._

"_Skidder!" Spin-Out raced to his brother's side, "What happened!"_

_-:- My plan hit a speedbump. I needed to get scraped up to send Pathline with the shipment to Crystal Towers while we took care of the transaction tonight legitimately while having a reason to tell the enforcers what we saw. -:-_

_Skidder sent across the bond he shared with his brother and at the same time spoke aloud, "I came early to check the crates for delivery. Only someone was already here. I saw them, I think, but I don't remember."_

"_Enforcer," Spin-Out turned to the crouching mech tending to Skidder's wounds, "Has his peripheral memory slot been damaged?"_

"_I don't believe so." Grinddown looked over the numerous slots and ports embedded in Skidder's cerebral plating under his helm, "No, he's fine."_

"_This slot," Spin-Out pointed to one at the back of Skidder's helm, "leads to his memory siphon unit. You have my permission to access his port and use his memories to find whoever did this."_

_Beside them, crouched down with the rest Pathline looked from one brother to the other and shook his head in bewilderment. "When can we take Skid-Out home?"_

"_I'm sorry, who are you?" Grinddown asked once the siphon was complete._

"_Pathline, Spin-Out's personal assistant."_

_Grinddown stood, signaling Pathline to follow him into the warehouse. "Do you know what these are?"_

"_Wha – oh, uh, yes actually I do. Those are paintings and sculptures from Spin-Out's private collection he is sending to the Towers, Those were supposed to be taken in a shipment this orn."_

"_That is what Skid-Out told me," Griddown nodded, "As Spin-Out's assistant, would you be able to take these in Skid-Out's place. I can provide an enforcer escort to take you to the Towers as this violence could occur again."_

_Pathline looked through the warehouse to where Spin-Out knelt over Skidder, and nearly dropped his jaw when both waved nonchalantly for him to go. "I can, everything is in order. I have a copy of Skid-Out's itinerary. Once I have secure transport for the cargo we can leave immediately."_

_Spin-Out looked down to his brother as they awaited medical transport, "Why did I just wave at Pathline?"_

"_To get him to take our shipment under enforcer protection." Skidder grinned slightly and winced._

"_But, isn't _the shipment_ in there as well?" Spin-Out demanded in a hiss._

"_Relax, its all good." Suddenly Skidder's optics turned scarily focused, "How big are your pieces?" Spin-Out looked back at the crates, mentally figuring the crate volume to the size of his art pieces and felt something click in his processors._

"_The crates –"_

"_Have _very_ heavy shielding." Skidder grinned and slipped into a light doze as Spin-Out looked back to the swarm of enforcers loading two shipments worth of goods into a single small transport. 'My brother is a genius.'_

* * *

_Pathline followed Skidder's instructions to the letter, and as he did so he wondered why. The shipment arrived to the Towers without an issue. The enforcer escort drummed up all the free publicity his greedy spark could fathom, and as rumors spread of Autobot weaponry theft and the attack on a famous artist's brother the attention to Spin-Out's collection grew. Famous celebrities, artists, Autobot Security commanders, elite medical bots and district leaders from around the globe descended on the Towers. _

_The display was set up in a studio, crystal panels fronted the gallery section, while a pure white solid crystal spire formed the center of the grown tower. The crystals had been seeded, grown by feeding it minerals and a electric current until it had taken on its current shape. Now, their creation forgotten to time the crystal tower was the center of the grand city, and its namesake. _

_Pathline contacted a scrap dealer to come during the collection set-up to take away the heavy crate packaging. By then, Spin-Out waltzed in, helm high and his Elite act working to the hilt. Behind him limped in Skid-Out, the hero of the hour. The story of his injuries had spread, mutated and spawned a following rivaling that of Spin-Out's. Rumor had it that Skid-Out faced down a rogue Guardian, beaten him soundly and walked away with – almost – nary a scratch. Pathline just hoped that Linecutter's crew would not discover Skidder's rouse._

"_Did you call Shredder?" Skidder asked as he limped up to Pathline's side._

"_Yes, for the last time! I only called the wrong guy once, and you'll never let me live it down."_

_Skidder smiled an ugly smile, for an instant then smiled brightly so fast Pathline almost missed it. Pathline checked his playback file and shuddered, yep, Skidder definitely had his dark side, and his secrets._

"_I'm not worried," Skidder smiled again, then brightened as a slightly worn but well respected mech walked into the gallery. "Shredder! You look worse than usual." Skidder called with a wide grin as he walked over to the scrap dealer._

"_You are one to talk. I am well, I also hear you are a celebrity now. A great destroyer of rogue Guardian and Pit Hounds summoned from Unicron's own hand." Skidder cackled, and winced, holding to his still healing welds._

"_Oh, that is a good one." Skidder nodded with a grin and Shredder strode to the pile of heavy crating material that lay to one side. _

"_My thanks, Skid-Out, for remembering my humble business." The silvery-grey mech collected all the material and folded down, letting the crate metal shift to his empty cargo hold as his form shifted down. With a final honk of his horn Shredder rumbled away on his heavy wheels, his back fender clipping the wall and leaving a dark smudge behind._

"_Great! Just great, my show is behind schedule, my shining star is here two orns early and now I have to fix a wall." A petite opal hued femme pranced towards the smudge with a glower and a cleaning cloth._

"_Please, I am just taking up space. Let me take care of it." Skidder intercepted the show coordinator with a dashing smile, making the femme catch her balance as he stepped into her space. _

"_Well, that is more like it. You take care of it then." She brandished the cloth to Skidder and pranced off towards the next catastrophe._

_Once the femme moved off Skidder sobered and walked easily to the wall, his 'limp' forgotten. He swiftly wiped down the smudge on the wall, swept any splinters of metal or packing shavings into a pile for the next custodial mech to take care of and knelt by the wall Shredder had smudged. _There._ His fingers found a camouflaged crack in the wall and pulled out the heavy credit chit Shredder had hidden there. Skidder looked to his brother, caught his optic and nodded with his signature smirk._

_-:- The Towers enforcers are going to have fun in two joor. -:- Skidder sent and heard his brother's cultivated laughter in reply. Yes, two joor and they would be gone. The circus Spin-Out's artwork had created would be attributed to the illegal stim paks smuggled into the city. However the enforcers had scoured all their belongings and Skid-Out would remain a reputable trader._

_Pathline watched Skidder and _Spins_ have fun. Spins, he fumed, only Skidder could get away with mangling Spin-Out's name without recourse. Pathline huffed and shook his head. He wasn't mad at Skidder, but something was off. The news feeds had been troubling him lately. First Linecutter's crew was found by bounty hunters. The rewards had been collected for the find, then those same bounty hunters had been mugged, neither able to remember the face of their attacker._

_That wasn't the only thing bothering him though. Skidder was now wealthier than Spin-Out. It was impossible. Skidder dealt in underhanded dealings, sure, he had to. The majority of the legitimate goods were now controlled by the rising Decepticon forces or monopolized by the elites. So, how did Skidder, who had maybe seven jobs every three joor get so many credits?_

_A thought had wormed its way into Pathline's processors just this orn, one that had been idling just out of reach for so long. Now he felt it cement in place. The Towers had finally rid itself of an epidemic of illegal stim use. The stim packs had made mechs hyper active, sped up their fuel consumption, forced them to seek higher and higher grades of energon until their systems seized. Pathline wouldn't have worried, save that the epidemic had started exactly two joor from when Spin-Out's artwork was delivered to the Towers. _

_Skidder always sat on goods for exactly two joor, then let them move. Pathline did not believe in coincidences._

_-:- Spin-Out, we need to talk. -:-_

_Spins looked back to Pathline and nodded once, letting Skidder go off on his own. -:- About what? -:-_

_Pathline huffed, -:- Your brother. -:-_

_Spin-Out stood over Pathline, looking down on him hard, "Why?"_

"_How does he make his credits?"_

"_He sells my counterfeits." _

"_Counter-!" Patline looked up at Spin-Out in horror, "But, how?"_

_Spin-Out snorted a dry chuckle, "How much time do I spend in my studio?"_

_Pathline paused, Spin-Out was _always_ in his studio. He seemed to take forever – on a single painting. Pathline gaped, "You make the original and the counterfeits at the same time."_

_Spins nodded silently, "Who owns the black market on the illegal counterfeits of my works?"_

"_Uh, the underground trader Slither."_

"_Ever seen him?"_

_Pathline shook his head negatively, and looked sharply to Spin-Out, "Wait an astro, you mean Skidder is –"_

"_Yup, one and the same." Spin-Out grinned. "You had to stay in the dark to keep us legitimate."_

"_And now that I know?" Pathline demanded._

"_You started out a thief when I first caught you, feeling rusty?" _

_Pathline gaped, "You've been doing all this to keep the enforcers off of me, haven't you?"_

"_Not my idea," Spins nodded to the distant race track where Skidder made insanely fast laps solo. "You had that heist in Tarn, we've sat on that cargo for ten vorns. Now, that merchandise has been moved and sold. The case has been forgotten due to Tarn's war with everything south of the Crystal Sea. The 'Third Shift Thief' has been forgotten, and now he can come out of hiding."_

_Pathline grinned, "Primus, I thought I was doomed to be your lackey forever."_

"_Oh, you are." Spin-Out smirked, "When you don't have a job."_

* * *

_Pathline slipped through the darkness. The high rise home he was in had magnificent security features, amazing vistas over Cybertron in all directions and exquisite artworks from around the galaxy. Poised as a security officer Pathline made his rounds of the rambling highrise home, marked the real artworks for the heist later that orn, and switched the legitimate painting from Spin-Out's collection for one of the better forgeries. With a smirk, Pathline walked out empty handed, silently wishing he had a larger sub-space compartment._

"_How was work, darling?" Skidder asked lightly as Pathline unloaded his sub-spaced goods._

"_Painful." He snarled back. "How the slag do you fit paintings bigger than you into subspace?"_

"_Easy," Skidder slipped open one of his compartments, revealing a glowing space, "Install a condenser cube into your sub-space fabric."_

"_That's illegal, deadly and – _wrong_!" Pathline back peddled from Skidder._

"_You really believe that Primus makes our frames?" Skidder asked flatly. "Even though we come from factories, and we're mass sparked, and we have no family units save those we collect on our own. You still think that Primus will punish us for altering our frames with condenser cubes when we regularly install weapons for killing each other."_

"_Uh, well, it sounded a whole lot worse in my helm." Pathline replied defeated. As he accepted a glowing black condenser cube from Skidder he wondered when he had lost all the high ideals he had held on to in the beginning._

_When Pathline had been young, he had only stolen what he had absolutely needed, but then he had met Spin-Out and a job had come his way …_

_Pathline looked to Skidder's back as the other mech worked on an unknown project and wondered if the theft in Tarn had been sent his way by Skidder from the beginning. As he thought it a dark tendril of doubt began to fill his spark and taint his faith in Skid-Out, and through him Spin-Out. "I'll go to RiftRender and get this put in." _

_Skidder waved Pathline off as he worked, outwardly ignoring the other's leaving. Once Pathline left Skidder turned toward the door with narrowed optics. 'So you've guessed, but now what will you do?'_

* * *

_Pathline watched from the outskirts as Skidder, frame blackened and bulked with a change in plating sequence, made the black market deal on several stolen goods. The price was exorbitant, but it would barely keep them alive for the next six joors. _

_Tarn's war in the south had spread, engulfing all of Cybertron. Only the news feeds seemed to work now, and energon was everymech's prize worth killing for. Only Skidder kept them from having to kill for it now. His deals with every devil on Cybertron wrung more energon from the greedy than they would have ever parted with for any other reason. Every high roller left alive on Cybertron knew of Slither, the black, underground trader of high end, famous, stolen goods. They sought _him_ out for their trades, each carrying six times their weight in energon just to get one of their priceless artifacts from when times had still been good._

_Now everything was dead it seemed. The Towers were destroyed, Crystal City in shatters, Iacon burnt out and every other city devastated. Pathline sighed as the latest 'trading partner' slipped off into the darkness and waited. Skidder gestured into the night, signaling them to regroup at one of their regular spots. Pathline hung his head and trudged in that direction. _

_He wanted this to be a nightmare, waking each new orn to find that all the death and destruction from the last one had only been added to as he recharged. Only, each orn got worse. He slipped through a back alley, helm down he ignored the shadows moving around him. _

_Skidder shifted his plating mid step in the shadows, coming out his venom green and sleek self on the other side. He caught up with Spin-Out, glad to see his brother's still pristine pale form. So many took comfort in seeing Spins alive. Spins the artist who lived his function. Spins who created wonders with metal pigments and crystal canvas. Spins who always had just a drop or two of energon to give to the starving._

_Spins kept them off the radar from Skidder's black market work that would have gotten them terminated long ago. They both knew that. Skidder gave his brother a weak, lopsided smirk in silent gratitude. Spin-Out only shook his head. _

"_What's eating you now?"_

"_Nothing," Skidder sighed, "Just wondering if we still have a few more lucky orns left."_

"_Guess not," A familiar voice sounded behind them. Skidder and Spins whirled around, facing Shredder and Grinddown. "We've found you out, Brothers-Out. You should have been more careful with who you stole from."_

_Skidder gulped as he looked at the worn down frame of the former enforcer Grinddown, "What happened?"_

"_You." Grinddown snarled, "You stole from under my nose, shipped stolen good, drugs, weapons and smiled at me the whole time. I got demoted, fired and then _they_ came. The Cons destroyed everything. And freed me._

"_With my purpose stolen from me I made finding out who let us descend into this madness, and guess what, I found you two. Drugs in the Towers, weapons released into Tarn at the beginning of their war. Did you two even think about what you were doing?"_

_Skidder looked to Grinddown, taking in the madness in his optics. "The weapons came from Tarn in the first place. Some gladiator paid me to steal them, sit on them and sell them back to the Decepticons. I didn't change anything!"_

"_No?" Shredder laughed, "That gladiator was Megatron. The Decepticons, the dregs of the old military that no one needed anymore? Those fed the war machine and produced the new Decepticons. You sold back those weapons when the Autobots and Enforcers were just getting everything under control. We had everything managed, then the weapons came. And they destroyed everyone."_

"_That's impossible," Spin-Out stepped between Shredder and his brother, "The weapons were fakes."_

_Shredder and Grinddown looked at each other in shock, "What?"_

"_They were fragile fakes. It wasn't what the shipment _was_ that they wanted, but the ore they were made of." Skid-Out grinned, "I knew the Decepticons were turning sour down there so I substituted a lesser grade of ore. Whatever they did down there, they did on their own."_

"_We know." Shredder grinned, his red optics blazing hotly, "And now Lord Megatron has your confession!"_

_Skidder looked to Spin-Out in horror, both turning to flee and felt darkness begin to descend upon them and fell. The last thing their optics lit on was Pathline, optics bright, standing behind several Decepticons waiting in silence._

_"You purchased high quality weapons from Lord Megatron, and sold him back sub-standard fakes. You will _suffer_ for what you have done." Grinddown grinned and signaled the Decepticon troops to take their prisoners away. Skid-Out and Skidder struggled and cursed, until they saw the one face they thought they could count on staring at them accusingly from the dark alleys. Pathline stood there, and watched them get taken away. Hands lax at his sides he showed exactly where he stood - with the Decepticons. Skidder snarled, struggled harder to get away and crumpled into blackness when something smashed into his helm._

* * *

Until next time.


End file.
